


the self banished

by iamnassau



Category: Black Sails
Genre: (also somewhat), (somewhat), Body Image, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Hand & Finger Kink, Intimacy, John Silver's Terrible Self-Esteem, Light Angst, Mirror Sex, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, madi's mind is so powerful, silver: yeah i'm kinky. my fetish is being loved and holding hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:15:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21620809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnassau/pseuds/iamnassau
Summary: Madi props herself up on her elbows and rests one hand on his skin, skimming across his chest. She laughs quietly at something he’ll probably never hear. “You are something special, John Silver.”
Relationships: Madi/John Silver
Comments: 10
Kudos: 53





	the self banished

**Author's Note:**

> i love... silvermadi.... so much
> 
> this didn't start out as porn but here we are so i hope yall enjoy
> 
> edit: ao3 deleted like half of the text so the word count has changed PLEASE READ THIS VERSION i'm fuckin... dead

John concedes his good fortune in finding someone like Madi, who is quite easy to parse out. Her intentions are clear before anything else, and he admires her for it. She clearly has a mind for diplomacy, but not for gratifying the delicate sensibilities of others, like he does. It’s a good thing. Madi answers where he evades.

She has always been direct with him. “This is a comfort for us, nothing more,” she told him once before they went to bed together. He agreed aloud, but wanted all that she’d forbidden. By the end of the month, she changed her mind. “Stay in bed, I’ll bring you something clean to wear,” she said, tenderly scrubbing at his face with a damp cloth. John could tell then that she enjoyed doing that for him. Not because he couldn’t easily do it himself, but because she didn’t  _ want  _ him to, and her wishes apparently manifest in reality the same way Flint’s do. 

John, despite all his posturing, can play a very good invalid when he wants to. He finds that Madi prefers him pliable (read: useless and unhelpful) whenever she takes care of him like that, which amuses him to no end. So he always plays along, idly watching her trim his nails or lying prone on his stomach while she has a knee on either side of him, rubbing a salve on the heat-dried skin of his shoulders.

It should wound his pride, but it doesn’t. Perhaps it’s because, unlike the crew, Madi isn’t supposed to obey him.

Now, while she doesn’t confuse him often, there are moments when he wonders, always privately, what her reasoning is for being with a man like him. Aside from the alliance, which he isn’t sure would benefit from an affair between the Maroon heiress to the throne and the pirates’ one-legged quartermaster. Fear still plagues him when he thinks about the few parties on both sides who know of their relationship. He can’t imagine public knowledge of it would go over well just now.

She cares for him genuinely, he knows, but that isn’t enough to silence his unease. What does her mother think of him? Who of her community would believe him capable of providing for their princess? Is her desire motivated by pity?

He dares not ask, and so the questions fester.

When John next finds himself in her bed, which is becoming increasingly more common as the days pass, the night is cool and breezy. Madi curls up beside him, bringing her quilt up over his waist as well. John feels like he can breathe, like he is permitted to live in this place, unhindered by the whims of a life he didn’t choose.

They’ve barely touched tonight, but he thinks they’ve been lying like this for an hour or more. Or maybe only a few minutes.

Madi props herself up on her elbows and rests one hand on his skin, skimming across his chest. She laughs quietly at something he’ll probably never hear. “You are something special, John Silver.”

A smile plays at his lips as he looks up at her. “Special how? I’d hate to find out I’m not the only criminally-inclined invalid you’ve taken to bed.” She snorts and shakes her head. “That’s probably a claim that I alone can make.”

“No,” she says, and while the mirth remains in her expression, her black eyes become grave, as they often do. “I was thinking more along the lines of how lovely you are. Particularly here and now.”

John looks up at the ceiling. “Good one.”

She ignores him completely. “You’re beautiful.”

He raises a brow and tries not to let his body seize up beside her. “Am I now?” he asks with false indifference, still not meeting her eye.

Madi recognizes the tension in him though, and those dark eyes narrow at him for the first time since he was still a captive here. She sits up, leaving him cold on that side. “Are you questioning me on this subject?”

John lets his head sink further into the pillow cushion, shame creeping up in his throat. “I suppose I am, but…”

“But?”

“I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to,” he says, shoulders raised to his ears, his tone more sheepish than he would have liked. But Madi softens at this point and gently cups his face with both hands. He drops his head further into her touch and looks up as though seeking penance.

“I’m not angry. I just wonder what has you doubting my sincerity.” They both sigh, and he very casually clings to her when she lies back down.

“I don’t doubt that you mean it. I simply-“  _ Disagree _ , he wants to say, but that would be too self-pitying, even for him. He doesn’t continue, unable to find something she’d want to hear. Madi quirks a brow at his abrupt silence, and he feels worse for having said anything. He stares at the doorknob as if it might move under his watch. “I’ll stop talking.”

She sits up with more of a start this time and leans over him. “John, what has you so anxious? I don’t mean to make light of it, whatever it may be. I’ll understand.”

John finally meets her concerned eyes and takes her hands in his. “It’s not important. I don’t respond well to that sort of flattery, that’s all.”

“You don’t mean to say that you believe you’re unattractive?”

“No, well yes, but-“ He props up a few pillows behind his back as she stares at him in bewilderment. “Is that truly so surprising to you?”

Madi’s lips part as she looks down at him like he hasn’t answered her question at all. “How often do you feel like this when we’re-?”

He wishes he’d never said anything with how this conversation is going for him. The worst part is, John knows she won’t forget it any time soon. “Not so much anymore, just… when you say things like that. Please don’t worry about it.”

The shock in her expression doesn’t dissipate, but she hugs him close, one hand tangled in his hair and the other stroking the small of his back. At this, he closes his eyes, breathing out harshly, and rests his own hand on her waist. “I won’t speak of it again if you try to remember just how eager I was to get you into this bed in the first place.” John huffs a laugh. 

At first, he’d thought that she was anything but. When the relationship was still only sexual (in practice), she tugged him along with- what seemed to him then- methodical and uncaring hands, her face blank a majority of the time. At that point, he thought she was looking for anybody who could fulfill her needs, something he prided himself on. She seemed to try her damnedest not to face him during early encounters, and John was genuinely convinced that she found him too repulsive to look at.

Madi, however, would respond with horror when he informed her of this past belief in jest.

The topic became easy to joke about once he came to know her better and understood the real reason for her curt behavior; it was fueled by terrible, vivid embarrassment. It took him a while to accept that such a regal figure could experience mortification. But she later explained the fear of showing such interest and being so forward with a man outside of her community. She thought that if he wanted something else, he would say so. If he’s being honest, it’s a comfort to know that even she is capable of self-doubt, on occasion.

So, he does remember her eagerness, in his own, long-winded way.

“I will,” he says with a brief smile, despite not knowing what that will do for him, and they settle back in each other’s arms to sleep.

-

John has given up trying not to stand out on the Maroon Island as a one-legged white man, but he is still keenly aware of the eyes on him at any given point in time. Many of the looks he gets are curious rather than suspicious or unkind. He only finds that his feelings about being the center of attention have changed.

Wandering about the island while Madi meets privately with her mother, he comes to sit on a bench by the bustling marketplace, a halved soursop in hand.

Before long, a child approaches him from behind one of the leather stands. A boy, no older than eight years, shuffles up, standing at a safe distance from him. He doesn’t speak, and John guesses that he might not know English. A slightly taller girl with her hand wrapped around the wrist of her younger brother also strays from their mother’s side. He cuts a piece of his fruit off for each of them. He must not be seen by them as a leper, at least, since they take the offered gifts. But he understands that he often isn’t present for questioning, and that he’d have to be interrogated eventually. John has the mind to slip away from the public forum as soon as he can on most days.

Three children are probably not the worst scrutineers he could have ended up with. 

The boy starts. “Why are you sitting here?”

“I was walking, sat down to eat.”

“You never stopped here before,” the girl points out.

John shrugs, falsely casual. That they are familiar with him and his routine is a little rattling. “I felt like sitting today. Madi and my men are occupied.”

They appear to accept that. The girl’s brother wanders back to his mother, too young to stay interested in whatever the older kids have to say. She watches him go before continuing. “You’re called Silver, aren’t you? You’re a pirate?”

He nods patiently.

“Is it scary?” The boy steps closer to him, speaking in a hushed tone like John might be too proud to answer in front of others.

“Sometimes.” They look pointedly toward his leg, unable to conceal their intentions. He tries not to notice.

Of the two of them, the girl is bolder. “Were you born without a leg?” That’s something he’s never heard before. He shakes his head. “Did you lose it while being a pirate?” John nods, although it isn’t true. He wasn’t a pirate then, not really. “Why aren’t any of the others missing legs?”

“They have better luck than I do?” He just barely resists laughing at the idea.

“They must like you.” At this, his brows furrow. “They know you’re the bravest one and that’s why they let you stay here. We let you stay.”

John blinks, searching for a response and finding none. 

The boy nods in agreement with her analysis. “Does it hurt?” he asks, pointing at the base of the iron leg.

“Sometimes,” John says again, less convincingly this time. He feels unusually comfortable rolling his pant leg up to display the leather straps where his prosthesis ends. They poke at it, careful not to jostle him, and he’s quietly amused by the fact that they’re more occupied knocking on the wooden section of his false leg than the missing limb itself.

The dry soil crunches with the slow approach of another figure; it’s Madi, with her brows raised to her hairline. The children draw back as she nears.

He already knows what she’s thinking. “They aren’t bothering me. We’re just having a chat about piracy and such.”

She smiles at them, pats their heads as they go, waving to John absently as if they suddenly have somewhere else to be. He’s almost disappointed, but brightens as Madi sits next to him, plucking the knife and fruit from his hands. She bumps shoulders with him, oblivious or simply apathetic to their unconcealed seating. “How was your walk?”

“Uneventful until I sat down. Children are funny.” She hums agreeably, and they lapse into silence. Kofi makes a brief appearance to give her updates on a construction project, which John dutifully pretends to ignore, knowing that he shouldn’t eavesdrop. The other man understandably gives him a withering look, and John scoots a few inches away from Madi to make him feel better.

Once he’s gone, departing with a curt nod, Madi tilts her head at him. “There’s no reason for that. Kofi already knows.”

John shrugs, sweat beading on the back of his neck from the stifling heat. “Then he must not approve, at least. I don’t particularly want to be stabbed.” He knows he won’t get stabbed by anyone- the alliance assures that- but the fear remains. “But no matter. Who would approve of me anyway?”

Madi frowns. “I’m sure I don’t need to answer that. Many of the others like you; they wouldn’t allow their children to get so close otherwise.” A fair point. Her eyes roam over his face and down to the v-shaped neckline of his shirt. “And while their input is important to me, I don’t think anyone needs to have authority over my choices of partner.” 

He wants to say that it doesn’t remove the sense of alienation, but she must know that already.

“They’re lucky you have good taste,” he jokes, demonstrating his willingness to move on from the topic without argument. She doesn’t respond with a laugh, or even a smile, just stares at him before standing. With a slight nod of her head, John stands too. He’d like to reach out and take her hand so that she could drag him all the way back to her hut. But he doesn’t. She leads him to it, and he looks forward to dropping into bed for a midday rest. 

It’s a farther walk from most of the other residences because of her status and desire for quiet, but not so removed that she might appear distant from her future subjects. As Madi opens the door, he maintains a respectful distance, grateful for the Maroons’ liberal views on male-female interaction. Any European would take issue with his visitation, but he’s not yet been harassed by anybody but his own crewmates.

She holds the door for John and lets him close it behind them, her hand on his shoulder. It trails down his back until she can untuck his shirt with a delicate tug. When he turns around, a quip waiting on his tongue, she silences him with a hard kiss. John closes his eyes without hesitation, palms coming to rest flat on her waist. Then she pulls away.

“I want you. I want you right now,” she rasps, and seizes the bottom hem of his shirt to do away with it. His breathing is just as ragged as she pulls the thin fabric over his head and tosses it somewhere. He’s curious as to where exactly this outburst came from, but in the fear that it might be misinterpreted as discontent, he says nothing. Madi captures his lips again and turns them so as to let him crowd her against the wall. “You’re so…” It isn’t often that she’s at a loss for words, and John smiles at her irritated huff. “I know you are not fond of compliments. Let me show you.”

“Is that what this is about? Because- ah-“ She starts to thumb at his nipples, not worried about the rest of his sentence. He’s already forgotten it anyway, and presses more firmly against her, kissing the column of her throat.

Before any advancement toward the bed can be made, John catches a peripheral glimpse of their movement in Madi’s full-length floor mirror, a treasured gift from her father. It’s old and somewhat hazy with dust, but he can see both of them well enough. One of Madi’s hands slides to his waist, and the other taps his jaw so he faces her once more. 

“Does it bother you?” she asks, genuine concern coloring her words. He shakes his head; it doesn’t. It only gives him a curious sense of unreality. John’s eyes trail back to their reflections, and he covers Madi’s hand, still cupping his cheek, with his own. “Do you enjoy it then?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbles with a helpless shrug.

“That’s alright. As long as it does not trouble you.” She studies him, gently pulling him closer to where she stands against the wall. Then she speaks in hushed tones, head over his shoulder. “I know that your perception of yourself is not something I can help you repair. And I know you’ll find peace in that respect sooner than you think possible. But please believe that I don’t think you could be more beautiful than you are just like this.”

John remains silent for fear of what might come out of his mouth if he tried to speak, but his arms tighten around her, and she embraces him too, her fingers tenderly laced in the curls at the back of his head. The words fill him with desperation, and although Madi’s fervor had calmed, the motivation is quickly rekindled. John hikes one of her legs over his hip, and she’s hasty to gather her skirts up so as to give him more room. Her breath is hot on his lips, and he exhales heavily as she unbuttons his breeches with the hand that’s not tugging on his hair.

He helps with a particularly stubborn clasp, and their fingers brush. “John,” she says. He jerks at the reverence in her voice. “Give me your hands.”

The request is familiar from some of their first meetings, when she showed him exactly what she wanted, but this is different. He lets her leg slip out of his grasp, and once back on two feet, she takes the pause as an opportunity to encourage him back toward the bed in the center of her room. Now her hands resting on top of his seem less guiding than they once were and instead, the touch is unbearably tender. She brings the tips of his fingers to her lips as his legs hit the wooden frame. He sinks down onto the mattress without looking away from Madi’s rapt expression. She’s quick to follow, straddling his hips in an instant and squeezing his hands between their chests.

“I want you,” she repeats.

John nods stupidly. “Let me-” He gestures toward his leg, and she molds herself tight to his chest so that he has room to unbuckle the prosthesis behind her. At this point, the motion is so commonplace that he can remove it without looking, but his trembling fingers give him some trouble before he manages to loosen it. He can feel Madi’s amused eyes on him when he wraps both arms around her to pull the boot off, his cheek pressed firmly to her bust. He’s tempted to stay just like this. So much so that he grumbles when she crawls away from him, only hushing when he realizes that she’s making a trek to the bottle of oil he knows is stored under the bed. She simply lets out a ghost of a laugh at his fidgeting impatience.

When she returns from the farther reaches of the bed, she tugs on his waistband, and he shucks his trousers off at the unspoken request. Then Madi is finally sitting astride him once again. Her hands go to either side of his jaw. “Look at you. You are lovely like this.”

His face grows warm under her attention. “Are you going to get undressed?”

She shakes her head, then pauses. “Unless it discomforts you.”

“No, no, this is fine.” Madi traces his bottom lip with her thumb, soothing, and his eyes flutter shut. The silence, only broken up by distant voices outside, quells the bustle in his head so that he can lean into her unthinkingly. Part his lips and allow her to slip the digit into his mouth, pressing down gently on his tongue.

“Good boy,” she says, kissing his ear as he jerks with the words. His cock barely brushes the linen of her skirt, but the contact is almost too much. John has one hand clumsily trailing up her inner thigh, and he suppresses a high noise when she clutches at his hair then, fingers buried deep in the curls at the back of his head. “Wet your fingers first.” She draws her thumb back out of his mouth, slipping the oil out of his line of vision. “Like this.” Her instructions are feather-light in his ears, her voice steady and kind. 

He sucks three fingers into his mouth, grazing his teeth over the tops of his knuckles with every movement. Madi watches him closely. He stares back, unblinking until her hand closes around his cock, having been slicked while his focus was elsewhere. He shudders and pushes up into the touch without thinking. Her other hand wraps around his wrist, pulling his fingers away so that she can seal their lips together. John continues where he left off, hand sinking back under her skirt. He touches the callused tips of two fingers to her entrance, and at once Madi buries her face in the crook of his neck. She’s always had a particular affinity for his hands, and that is flattery he would never dispute.

They rock against each other, unhurried and quiet, as his fingers breach her. It’s often like this, with no words between them; the first time, Madi had been caught off guard by his lack of commentary. Anybody would be, knowing his propensity for talking. But here he exhales hotly against her shoulder, interspersed with whines when she tightens her grip. John returns the favor by dragging the heel of his palm across her clit, and she makes a sound almost like laughter, shocked out of her.

As his breathing quickens and stutters, he starts to thrust up into the circle of her fist. It’s more useless than not until she flattens her other hand over the center of his chest. 

Madi puts her weight into it. “Down,” she commands in an affectionate murmur. He lays back without protest, and she moves up in his lap so that he can continue his ministrations. But the outstretched hand remains on his chest. She tilts her head toward the corner of the room. “Look at us.”

He does, turning to the mirror to study his own flushed face and her solid form above him. His gaze trails down to where her skirts are draped over his thighs, then to his foot braced on the floor. His stump is only partially visible at this angle, but he doesn’t linger on it anyway. 

Then he catches Madi’s warm smile, directed at him rather than the reflection.

“Oh.” He rests his hand on hers, tangling their fingers shyly. 

Her eyes crinkle, and she twists her wrist so that he moans. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” John replies, unthinking, and curls his fingers inside her. He struggles to focus on what he’s doing, on the feeling of Madi’s slender hand on his cock. He’s fighting a losing battle, eyes screwing shut before they trail back to the mirror. She gasps on top of him, and her knees draw in tight around his hips. It just motivates him to work harder. He thumbs gently at her clit as tension builds in his stomach, letting out breathless whines with every stroke. 

And just as common as his wordlessness is at the beginning, he starts to babble when he gets close. Not that it’s particularly intelligible aside from “Madi, god, Madi-“ but she nods all the same. Her fingers run over the crown of his cock, pausing to tease at the slit, and he damn near mewls at the touch. It’s that and the fond look on her face in the mirror that makes John gasp, squeezing her hand as his orgasm washes over him. He rides it out with his head tossed to one side, thighs twitching.

Madi gives him sufficient time to savor it while idly grinding down on his fingers. When he’s regained his faculties, he fucks her in earnest, alternating between rubbing circles against her and crooking his fingers inside until she tenses around him, shaking apart with a choked-off moan. Almost immediately, she drops onto his chest, and he has to disentangle their fingers before their hands go numb between them.

“You are good at that,” Madi tells him after she catches her breath. 

“Come up here.”

She knows what he wants. “No.”

“Yes,” he says petulantly, gesturing for her to scoot up so that she could straddle his face.

“No. We’re sleeping now. You’re tired. I’m tired. I want to hold you.”

His eyes narrow. It’s unfair that she knows just how much he enjoys when they nestle up in her bed, and that she’s using it against him again. He sighs, long-suffering, but lets her get off of him. Both of them resettle higher up on the mattress, and Madi sits up to unlace her skirts, plucking a damp rag from her nightstand to wipe them down. Then, as promised, she wraps her arm around his shoulders and pulls him in close. John makes a low noise of contentment, his eyes already shut as he presses his lips to her collarbone.

“Didn’t you use that to wash your face this morning?”

He can feel her shrug. “Sleep.” Its her way of saying _this doesn’t concern you, stop thinking so hard._ Most likely, she’ll have another towel and another basin of fresh water brought in for tomorrow. 

But before he’s able to nod in acquiescence, she leans up on her elbows. “Before you do,” she says, and he smiles at the hasty interruption. “Do you understand what I want you to see, why I want you to see it?”

John opens one eye to peer at the mirror just as a glint of sunlight reflects off of it and onto the linen sheets. “I believe so.”

“Good. Remember this when you feel yourself lacking.” She taps on the center of his chest, too gentle to be accusatory.

“I will,” he tells her, shocked to find that it rings true. Madi is apparently satisfied and runs her fingers through his hair as he curls into her touch. She guides his head closer until their foreheads are touching, and like most of the more honest moments in his life, no words are needed. She understands, and he loves her. It fills him with warmth to say it, even if only to himself, even if only very quietly.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me about black sails on tumblr @ awretchlikeyou
> 
> and i appreciate everyone for reading, leaving kudos, and/or commenting!!


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